


Ordinary Mortals

by PeppermintTchaikovsky



Category: The Iliad - Homer, The Song of Achilles - Madeline Miller
Genre: Canonical Character Death, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-22
Updated: 2015-08-22
Packaged: 2018-04-16 14:27:42
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 590
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4628700
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PeppermintTchaikovsky/pseuds/PeppermintTchaikovsky
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Achilles never thought that after death he would be considered ordinary. Ordinary mortals fear death for a good reason.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Ordinary Mortals

After Achilles died there was darkness and silence before there was light. Charon took the gold from his eyelids and ferryed him across the great river Styx as he would any ordinary mortal. He was judged as any other mortal would be. He wasn’t different from any other mortal. He thought he would be hailed as a prince and hero, even in the afterlife, therefore, he did not fear death as any other mortal did. Ordinary mortals feared the bleak fields of Asphodel and yet somehow he thought he would be different.  
Achilles assumed ever since he was a child that he would end up in Elysium for his heroic deeds. He was to be taken to Asphodel much to his shock, but really, when he thought on it, what had he done but let his beloved die and kill Hector?  
There was a river that he had to drink from. It was supposed to make him forget.  
“Forget what?” Achilles asked.  
“Everything,” came the reply  
“Why?” Achilles asked again.  
“It is easier,” came the reply again. His shade of a chauffeur did not enjoy these questions.  
The water didn’t work as it often did for heros. Achilles was pleased. Perhaps he was not such an ordinary mortal after all. The shade guiding him frowned and shook his head sadly.  
The fields of Asphodel were as bleak as the stories made them out to be. There were grey skies and burnt grey trees and grey shades flittering about. There was no noise except a low, pulsing hum that seemed to come from within him.His guide said his goodbyes and left Achilles alone.  
The shades were a curiosity to Achilles. They very clearly had a human form, albeit they seemed to hover and their flesh looked grey and sickly. The only thing remotely striking about them were their eyes. They were foggy and white and without any irises or pupils. Achilles could not tell if they could actually see or not. He wondered if his eyes looked the same.  
A few shades talked to Achilles. Their voices were low and monotonous. Achilles tried to tell them tales of the war but most did not stay to listen.  
What occupied most of Achilles’ endless time was searching for Patroclus. He could not wait to talk to his beloved and tell him of how he fought a river and how he avenged his death. He would tell Patroclus of his funeral games and of the songs he wrote for him. He wanted so desperately to be able to hold Patroclus in his arms again. The few weeks when they had been apart were far too long.  
After days or possibly years, Achilles couldn’t tell, he decided that perhaps Patroclus had ended up in Elysium. Though he was slightly jealous at the thought and very begrieved at the thought of his potential eternal loneliness, Achilles knew that Patroclus deserved his spot in paradise. He was, after all, the best of the Myrmidons, the best of men.  
One day, just as Achilles had accepted his friend’s fate with joy, he spotted him under a singed pomegranate tree. Achilles approached Patroclus with more delight than he had felt since they first arrived at Troy.  
“I have missed you so much!” He exclaimed as he pressed a kiss to his forehead. He was bewildered when Patroclus didn’t react.  
“Patroclus, it’s me, Achilles,” He said, his voice faltering.  
“I love you,” he whispered. Patroclus only looked at him frowning with his foggy, white eyes.  
“Who?” he asked.


End file.
